in the black, black gloom
by circleofstars
Summary: Imagine if the troll had been something more sinister. It could have been much, much worse.
1. Chapter 1

Merlin ducked an arrow and hurtled around the corner, only to stumble back as the heat of the burning apothecary's shop hit his face like a muffling sack. He windmilled his arms to stay upright, ears buffeted by distant screams. He wondered, creasing his chin with remorse, whether the shopkeeper and his pretty daughter were still inside. A hot swoop of nausea burned his throat as he turned away and sprinted on.

He found a clear street, sloping steeply away from the darkly looming castle. He let his legs move automatically as the gradient carried him downwards, desperation making him reckless.

At the end of the road Merlin skidded to a halt in front of the city walls. A dark bundle unfolded itself from the base of the wall and plucked at his sleeve, turning a pale face and frantic eyes up at him. She spoke, small and muddled and gibberish through the mounting buzzing in his ears. He whirled towards her and, aching with pity and self-loathing, peeled her icy fingers away from his jacket.

Rhythmic footsteps approached, filling the air with an impossibly amplified executioner's drum-beat. A group of knights, in a parody of their old discipline, but mad-eyed. Merlin pushed the peasant woman back into the shadows, hoping it would be enough but without time to do more.

He took up his panicked sprint again, away from the flame-lit swords of the mob, following the inside of the wall towards the south gate. The streets were nearly empty here, the chaos muted by distance and thick smoke.

The gate, like the other four exits from the city, was barricaded and heavily guarded. It was impossible to tell if these were loyal knights seeking to eliminate the threat, or traitors blocking the townspeople's escape from the turmoil that had seized Camelot. Or perhaps to hinder the escape of one person in particular.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught a flash of something that could have been a dirty blonde head. He spun on the spot. Through the smoke he glimpsed a figure dodging out of sight behind a house.

Merlin darted towards it, and collided heavily with a cold steel breastplate. He sat down heavily in the dust, and met the half-familiar eyes of Sir Alnor.

'Merlin?'

Merlin scrambled uncertainly to his feet and crouched, ready to flee.

'The whole town's in uproar, man!' the knight continued. 'Nobody can get any news from the castle. Have you seen the prince?'

Merlin narrowed his eyes. He couldn't risk trust, not now that enemies and friends wore the same faces. 'He was in the dungeons, last I saw…' he stammered.

Alnor's eyes gave no indication of his reaction to this news. 'Alert a knight immediately if you hear news of his whereabouts,' he snapped, and stalked away, quickly swallowed by the gloom.

Merlin cursed under his breath. Arthur – if it was Arthur – could be streets away by now. He slipped into the alley where he'd last seen the fleeing figure, dodging between the overturned barrels which had been neatly stacked behing the low-roofed brewery.

There was no hint of movement, no whisper of sound.

Merlin flapped his arms mutely in frustration. What if the prince had already been killed? Even Arthur was no match for so many, not when they were men he had trained himself, and especially not when he was beset on all sides by the horror of the familiar which had been abruptly turned from home to death-trap. What if Merlin was chasing a ghost through this hellish labyrinth of streets, leaving Gaius and Gwen and Morgana to their fates in the castle?

He bent over, clutching his ribs and gasping for breath, supporting himself with a hand on the nearest barrel. He snatched his fingers back as if burnt and stared. A flare behind him illuminated the scarlet stain on his fingertips.

He stood frozen for a second, then glanced feverishly up and down the alley. His mind was too full and strangled with panic to process this. He took in a hissing breath through his teeth. He muttered a guttural phrase and watched the flare of his eyes change the dark crimson to angry scarlet, then to bright white. He looked down. The now vivid white substance had left a print of fingers on the barrel rim, as well as a wide smear on the wall. He looked at his feet to see a tiny round pool of it on the ground and, behind him, an irregular trail of similar drips and splatters leading to his current position from the corner of the alley. They didn't continue forwards, though. The trail seemed to evaporate where Merlin stood.

He returned the traces of blood to their natural colour, trying to ignore the mounting sick panic in his stomach. Quickly, he conjured a ball of white light in his hand. Again, the full redness of the marks was visible, but Merlin forced himself to look past them. When he managed to see clearly, he noticed a greyer mark on the barrel lid. One that could have be the dusty print of a boot.

Gulping down panic again, Merlin scrambled up onto the barrel and vaulted himself onto the building's flat roof. He blinked back tears of adrenaline, and abruptly froze. The cold sharp point of a sword pricked into the flesh just under his jawbone. He raised both hands quickly with his finger spread, and turned his head as slowly as he could bear to.

'Arthur?'

The sword was making him nervous, not least because it was trembling violently in its owner's hands.

Merlin stretched his neck uncomfortably sideways and squinted down the length of quivering steel to the familiar blue eyes looking at him without a hint of recognition.

'Arthur it's me. It's just me. Maybe you could, um… put the sword down?'

'Merlin?' the prince rasped, unconvinced.

'Yup.' It sounded high pitched and incongruously cheery.

'Stay back,' Arthur commanded, lowering his sword but keeping it extended warningly in Merlin's direction.

'Are you alright?'

Arthur shifted slightly, suppressing a wince.

'Merlin…?'

Merlin gulped. 'Yes,' he repeated.

'How can I be sure that you are yourself?' the prince demanded breathlessly.

Merlin glanced around for inspiration. The redness on Arthur's fingers was distracting him and hindering his brain.

'I once called you a clot pole?' he offered. ' I put your chainmail on backwards two days ago and you threw a shoe at my head but missed because your aim's rubbish?'

Arhtur closed his eyes and nodded wearily, allowing his sword to finally clatter against the rooftop. Merlin hurriedly stilled it, afraid that he noise would draw attention to them.

'What are you doing here Merlin?'

'Looking for you. Thought you could use some help.'

Arthur snorted a quiet laugh. 'I've had better days.'

'Are you going to let me see that wound?'

Arthur glanced at his bloody hands and grimaced. In a low voice he admitted, 'I'm not sure what good it would do.'

Merlin frowned and ignored him. 'Move your hands.' He pushed the prince back to lean against the wall at the edge of the roof. Merlin pressed his lips together and tried not to show any reaction in his face. The livid slash across Arthur's side was hours old, but still seeping blood.

'We need Gaius,' Merlin muttered, mostly to himself.

Arthur looked up suddenly. 'Gaius – is he stil in the castle? What about Morgana? And – and Guinevere? Have you seen them?'

'They're fine, they're not hurt. I – well, they were fine the last time I saw them.'

Arthur nodded impatiently. 'Go on.'

'Morgana went back to Uther after she warned you of the king's order. The lady Emilia found them arguing and had her locked in the dungeons, Gwen as well. They should be safe there. Gaius was researching a way to break the enchantment Emilia has on your father.'

'She's a sorceress?'

'We assume so, sire. Don't think Uther would sign your death warrant of his own free will, even if you did call his queen a…'

'Malicious hag? Point taken…'

Merlin grinned wryly.

'We have to get back to the castle.'

'_We have to get back to the castle?_ Did the two hundred lethally trained knights trying to kill me somehow escape your notice?'

'Did the festering stab wound in your torso somehow escape yours?'

Arthur swatted at his servant's head with a heavy arm. 'Not funny, _Merlin._ How did my wicked stepmother manage to recruit all my knights to her evil purpose?'

'Gaius thinks it was something in the beer they've been drinking. You father drank it, and all the knights except those who were on duty on the walls – Sir Leon and his battalion. They're in the dungeons now protecting Gwen and Morgana.'

'Beer?'

'Yeah, you know. Brown stuff, you drink it?'

'I know idiot. Tell me, Merlin, what building are we currently on the roof of?'

Merlin blinked. 'Oh.'

Arthur nodded condescendingly.

Merlin brightened. 'I guess we need to get back to the castle, then?'

* * *

_7 hours earlier._

Arthur stared idly at his foot, extended in front of him in the dirty straw of the dungeon floor. It was cold, and his shirt was thin, but he carefully maintained a relaxed and nonchalant posture. The guards looked slightly baffled to have him there, but were loyally sticking to their posts anyway, and had turned away Merlin when he'd appeared worriedly in the doorway.

He had to admit – silently, to himself – that he was worried. His father had locked him in the dungeons before, had even disinherited him before. But the cold fury in his eyes and the promise of further punishment after he had discussed the matter with his wife – that was something Arthur hadn't seen before. It had to be sorcery – someone had turned his father and stepmother against him. But he was hardly in any position to combat the attack.

A commotion at the foot of the stairs made him look up. Morgana's voice, raised in a commanding tone.

'The king has granted me a final meeting with the prisoner. Let me pass.'

The guard mumbled an objection that Arthur did not catch.

'That is not your concern.'

More unintelligible arguing followed.

'If you even suggest searching me again I will report you to the king for lechery. Let me _pass_.'

There was much shuffling and clanking as the guards moved aside and then Morgana's imperious footsteps approached. By the time she glided into view her icy composure was all but gone.

'Are you alright?'

'Been better.'

'Arthur the king has ordered your execution. You must leave immediately.'

'What?!'

'Keep your voice down, you blundering fool, if you want to keep you thick head,' she hissed.

'He's ordered my _execution?'_

'He's… not himself. Even Uther would not go so far…'

'Oh really?' Arthur whispered sarcastically. 'You _don't say_.'

'Shut up. Here – ,' She pulled a sword from under her cloak and began to post it through the bars. He scrambled to his feet to stop her.

'What are you doing?'

'Helping you escape.'

'You can't – you'll be thrown into this cell as soon as I'm out of it.'

'I'm not joking about the death sentence,'

'I know.' He reached through the bars to grasp her wrist. 'I fully intend to get out of here, but no one must know that you helped me.'

'Arthur, you don't have long… his words were "with immediate effect".' Despite her efforts, tears were creeping into her voice.

He let out a shaky sigh and squared his jaw. 'Alright. Give me your belt knife, and I'l pick the lock. Take the sword – I can take one from the guards easily, they won't want to fight properly against me.'

'Don't let your guard down Arthur. It's worse than we thought.'

'I'll get out through the tunnels. Tell Merlin to meet me outside the keep…'

'They'll follow you, You have to leave Camelot until this madness has passed…'

'I can't leave it like this. If my father will order my execution do you think he'll hesitate to send you and Guinevere to the gallows? And Gaius, and Merlin too?'

'Arthur, you're the only one he's turned on, at least, so far. I think this enchantment, wherever it comes from, is aimed at you…'

'Go to Uther and see if you can buy me some time. Ask him to delay the execution until morning. Don't be too concerned though – _don't_ provoke him.'

'_Promise me_ you'll be careful.'

'And the same to you. I'll be back soon'.

'Promise me you'll stay away until-.'

'Shh- no time. Go now.'

He stowed the narrow blade in his belt and watched her disappear.

It was almost too easy to pick the lock. Arthur hadn't grown up making mischief in Camelot for nothing. He was within feet of the guards with one of their swords in had before they so much as looked up from their uncharacteristic drinking and gambling. They scrambled clumsily to their feet and barred his way.

Arthur whirled the sword over his head and glared seriously at the guards. They looked nervous, and he wasn't surprised. Their loyalties must have been thoroughly uprooted by this turn of events. He hoped the confusion would allow him to knock them out easily, protecting them from suspicion of having allowed a condemned prisoner to escape unchallenged.

He stepped forward slowly. Two of the guards burst into premature action, rushing him with steel drawn. He parried hurriedly, lashing out with a foot to push the second one away. Edmund Tanner, a man he'd known all his life, was raining blows on him with unfamiliar fury. In a distracted flash he realised this was wrong. He found himself fighting in earnest; managed to knock one down with a well placed blow to the head but, engaged in a rapid exchange, got surprised from the side by the third guard.

His back met the wall and a knee knocked the wind viciously out of his belly. He doubled over choking and reached down to his boot for Morgana's belt knife. Too slow, though.

A hand caught his shoulder and slammed him upright against the wall. He saw stars and then nothing – just felt raging storming firey agony light up his side and yelled out strangled wordless anguish. He opened his eyes to meet Edmund's, cold and untouched by recognition, the same eyes that had frowned in bemused affection when his eight-year-old self had hidden a family of rabbits inside a spare suit of armour.

For a frozen moment he couldn't breathe. Then he slashed the little stick-knife across in desperate rage and Edmund's twisted face fell away. With a cry of grief and routeless fury and_ pain_, he pulsed the stained sword from the dying man's grasp and hurled it into the third guard's – James Anderry, the brewer's son's – chest.

He slumped back against the stone and linked back tears. He'd killed two friends. His father had ordered his execution. He had to run from his only home with murderers on his tail, leaving his friends in danger. He felt like curling up and weeping. Blood was seeping into his shirt. He took a deep breath and fled.

- - - - - -

_2 hours later_

The door banged against the wall and Merlin and Gaius immediately stopped talking and looked up nervously.

'Gwen?'

'Merlin - Gaius – Arthur's gone - !'

'What – did Uther…?'

'No, I mean – he escaped. Killed two guards and knocked one out. Uther has half the army out looking for him. They're tearing the town apart.'

'How did he -?'

'Morgana went to help him. But Merlin – they'll find him, the king has sealed the city. We have to stop this…'

'We're trying,' Gaius interjected. 'But until we know the source of the enchantment, we have little chance of breaking it.'

Gwen nodded shakily, turning desperate eyes on Merlin. In a breaking voice, she whispered, 'But – Arthur…'

'I'll find him,' Merlin promised impulsively, his chair scraping against the stone floor as he stood. He took Gwen's hand, looking her carefully in the eye. 'He knows what he's doing. He trained these men – he can hide from them, better than anyone.'

She chewed her lip. 'He can't… on his own…'

'I'll find him.'

She nodded resignedly.

'Go to Morgana. Make sure she doesn't do anything reckless. Gaius will keep looking for a way to break the spell.'

Gwen nodded, and squeezed his hand before releasing it. 'Find him, Merlin,' she repeated. The door slammed behind her and Merlin met his mentor's grave look.

'Go quickly. Be careful.'

- - - - - - -- -

_5 hours later_

After what seemed like an age, Merlin's tousled head popped up again over the edge of the roof.

'Got it. Beer sample for Gaius. Soon as he's got this, he can get to work on the antidote. Get everyone back to normal.'

'I'm glad you're so certain,' Arthur groaned, not bothering to open his eyes.

'Arthur?' Merlin stowed the bottle in his tunic and scrambled back up onto the roof. He slapped frantically at the prince's grey face. His eyes snapped open immediately.

'Ow – Merlin! What are you doing?'

Merlin rocked back on his heels and bit his lip. 'Just – checking. Sorry.'

'Definitely still alive…'

Merlin nodded encouragingly. 'Good. Good, that's um… that's great.'

'Go and check if the street's clear.'

Merlin watched his friend warily for a few seconds, then did as he was bidden.

Arthur watched him disappear and immediately turned his attention to the startling task of getting to his feet. The bleeding in his side had slowed to a trickle, but he was felling cold and shaky and short of breath and he knew instinctively that he'd already lost far too much blood. He stifled a groan as he tortuously rolled onto his hands and knees, letting out only a strange, strangled, animal sound of stunned pain.

He shuffled to the edge of the roof and slowly lowered himself over the edge onto the upright barrel, feeling for it clumsily with his feet, teeth gritted. He put his weight onto his legs and promptly folded at the knees. The world tilted sideways and he flailed his arms to grab the wall for support as he fell. Suddenly Merlin was there – a hand on his back and another on his elbow, halting his inexorable progress towards face down in the dirt. He let out something between a sigh and a growl, hunched over with his eyes pressed tightly closed.

'Okay – don't fall over…' Merlin was muttering.

'I wasn't _falling over_,' he hissed back with determined antagonism. 'I was just…'

'Just inspecting the guttering?'

'Ugh… possibly.'

'Can you walk?'

He favoured his servant with a dark look. 'Of course I can _walk.'_

'Right, sorry. Um – silly question.'

'Shut up Merlin.'

Merlin pulled Arthur's arm across his shoulders and steered him towards the end of the alley. The prince didn't object to the support – he wasn't quite foolish n=enough to refuse help he knew he needed in the name of pride. But still…

'If you tell _anyone_ about tonight's events, Merlin…' he paused to cough painfully. 'I'll make you polish all my armour every day for the rest of your natural life.'

'That's not even possible. It would get thinner and thinner until it was eroded away. In fact, I'm worried that it may be getting weak. I think maybe I should _stop_ polishing it.'

'In your dreams, Merlin,' Arthur growled. He was grateful for the low stream of inane chatter that Merlin kept up – it was a welcome distraction from the chore of walking. As well as from Edmund Tanner's surprised dead face in his mind's eye.


	2. Chapter 2

_Four hours earlier_

Arthur reached a dingy corner of the labyrinthine tunnel network and stumbled to a halt, doubled over, gasping for breath. He squeezed his eyes closed, pressed his lips together – it _hurt_, God, but it hurt. Tentatively, he reached around with his free hand to press experimentally against the wound. His shirt was soaked and stuck to his raw flesh. Gritting his teeth determinedly he pressed harder, as though just the pressure could force the livid edges of the slash closed. He let out a low yell, and glanced up in shock when the cold walls threw his voice back at him.

His fingers tensed into a claw where they rested on the wall at the sound of clamouring armour in the distance. He swallowed nervously and bent to pick up his dropped sword. Turning, he forced his feet to run again, up the tunnel and through the broken iron grate into the deserted street.

The town seemed charged with a strange energy, and somehow the gazes of the townspeople who squinted at him through the twilight seemed sinister and threatening. He was desperately exposed here, even as the light faded, his well-known face, the sword in his hand and the bloody stain on his shirt made any attempt to blend in useless.

As it got darker, the city began to echo with the sound of booted feet and harshly barked questions. Every corner revealed a hungry-eyed peasant whose face lit up with recognition and greed at the sight of him, or a distant patrol who seemed to stiffen when they caught his furtive movements.

Once, he caught a pointing finger in his peripheral vision and backed clumsily under a shop porch. A pot shattered under his foot and he fell, gasping inarticulately as the landing jarred his ribs. A yell and a clatter of steel sounded. Arthur blinked back stunned tears and crawled under the table, relying on the stacked ceramics in front to hide him. Lying on his side as the footsteps passed, he risked lifting his shirt to inspect the injury. He grimaced at the sight of his own ravaged flesh. It was worse than he'd thought – still bleeding steadily, angry and inflamed. His hands looked grey to him in the torchlight. He needed help, needed it _now_ or he would be in no shape to help anyone…

Above his head, an insidious voice proclaimed, "I asked the smith and his family; everyone on their street. No sign of the prisoner."

"They're lying." Another voice, the owner of the boots Arthur could see from his hiding place. He held his breath and trembled with the effort of keeping still. "Ask again. Anyone who refuses to help will be charged as a traitor and his house will be burnt to the ground. And he won't necessarily be allowed to leave it first…"

Arthur gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain quiet until their footsteps were no longer audible. Then he let his head fall back on the ground. It kept getting worse. Would it be better to give himself up, would that put an end to this madness? He dismissed the idea. Self-sacrifice seemed almost attractive at this point, but it wouldn't heal the kingdom of the cancer that had overwhelmed it. He wouldn't be the last victim of this mysterious sorcerer's attack.

He pushed himself up on his elbows and wriggled out, He noticed a folded cloak under the potter's paraphernalia on the table and carefully snatched it, wrapping himself in its folds and pulling the hood down over his face. He made a mental note to recompense the potter for this theft if he was ever a prince again. He leaned on the door and pushed unsteadily to his feet. The shop he needed was two streets over, and Alan the apothecary was a good man, Arthur had known him, trusted him, since childhood. After Edmund, that didn't mean much, but he couldn't rely solely on himself any longer – there was no point in denying it: without help, he was dying.

He knocked urgently on the rough wooden door and almost fell forwards when it opened, He shouldered his way past the protesting Alan and leaned against the apothecary's cluttered shelves, breathing heavily through his teeth.

'Who are you?' the old man demanded.

Arthur pushed back the hood with a shaking hand. 'Please – I need your help.'

The old man's face blanched with shock. 'Of course – sit…' He waved vaguely towards a chair, and the prince collapsed gratefully. His vision was blurring. A shadow in the corner moved, and turned out to be Alan's daughter Julia, watching him with frightened eyes.

Alan passed her a note he had been hastily writing and sent her out on an errand with a whispered admonition to hurry. Through a haze of pain, Arthur barely paid attention.

Left alone with him, Alan hesitated, staring uncertainly at his ghostly face.

'I need – something – to stop the bleeding…' Arthur choked out, fumbling with the cloak to reveal the wound to the old man's incredulous gaze. 'Do you have-?'

'I'm… not certain. Sire,' the man replied haltingly.

'I'm sorry. I don't mean to put you in danger. But I promise I _will _make this right, if you'll just help me…'

Alan didn't move. The silence swelled between them, and through it came muffled voices from outside.

'This house, girl?'

'Yes -.'

'Torch -.'

'No – wait! Please! My father is still in there!'

Arthur's eyes widened as he saw guilt and shock contort the apothecary's face.

'No…' he breathed, lurching to his feet. Alan fled, bursting out of the door and quickly obscured by a cascade of sparks falling from the thatched roof.

'Is this the only door?' demanded the rough voice outside.

'Yes, sir-.'

'And the prisoner is inside?'

'Yes, and wounded…'

'Block this door…!'

Arthur glanced around frantically. The thatch was burning fast, filling the room with smoke. Arthur spun, coughing, and darted to the single window. The frame was burning already, filling the only exit with flames. Regretfully, he pulled off the stolen cloak and threw it over the window ledge, hurling himself over it and out. He felt the heat scorch his face as he leaped, and his momentum carried him into the wall of the building opposite. He groaned and pushed himself upright. Alan's betrayal made his heart ache. He had truly changed from prince to outlaw in the light of two days. Apparently nobody was left in Camelot who was willing to risk helping him. And soon, he'd be demoted again, he thought darkly - to corpse.

He took a few painful steps and forced himself to break into an uneven run, heading for the city's outer wall. There was no help to be found, but perhaps further from the castle he might find a quiet place to die.

_One hour later…_

'Agh – _God_ – stop, Merlin, I need to stop…'

'We have to keep moving. There are still a lot of patrols in these streets…'

'I can't, I…' He stumbled and fell heavily against Merlin's supporting arm. '_Stop._'

'Arthur?' Merlin glanced up and down the steep alley furtively, and manhandled Arthur's reluctant form into a shadowy doorway. The prince immediately slumped back against the door, head lolling forwards. Merlin took firm hold of his chin and pushed it up, grimacing at the ashen, slack face. He slapped him lightly, then again with more force. 'Arthur,' he hissed. '_Arthur._ Look at me.'

Arthur's eyelids slid apart. His eyes roamed drunkenly and eventually focused sluggishly on Merlin. 'You have to get the beer to Gaius,' he croaked. Merlin had to bend his head even closer to hear. 'You have to go… break the enchantment. Merlin…'

'I'll get right on that, as soon as I can get your great lazy rump moving again. Want to help me out with that? You know, saving Camelot isn't always a one-man job…' Merlin rambled brightly, determined to trivialize the situation, to bring it back to a level he could still deal with.

He met Arthur's eyes hesitantly and was surprised to see them focused, burning and sincere. 'Merlin – you have to leave me.'

'No-'

'Please Merlin. It's more important – than – and I _can't_ – you have to do this…'

Merlin shook his head blindly, tearing his eyes away from Arthur's and turning his attention to the ragged bandage tied around the prince's ribs. The ends were beginning to unravel and there were spots of blood staining the fabric. A clumsy, cold hand grasped his wrist and halted his ministrations. '_Merlin.'_

'I'm not listening to you,' he said mildly, cruelly tearing the trembling fingers away from his arm. He pulled the bandage mercilessly tight and tied it off again.

'I'm not just being a- a prat. I never thought I'd be so pleased to see anyone, let alone you… as when your stupid head appeared over that wall… I _don't want to die_, Merlin. But we have to save Camelot, and this is the only way.'

'I won't leave you here. I just won't, so you'll just have to accept it,' Merlin bit out stubbornly.

Arthur's fingers fisted in the front of Merlin's shirt, and his voice intensified angrily. 'I appreciate your loyalty, but I need you to think of Camelot. There's no time…'

'Shut up – um, your highness. There's no point arguing.'

'For God's sake Merlin, why are you being so pigheaded about this?'

Merlin pressed his lips together thoughtfully. 'I made a promise. To Gwen. She made me promise I would find you… she's afraid for you. Don't you dare make me let her down. You'll only be letting Camelot down.'

A kind of abstract, unspeakable pain came into Arthur's unfocused blue eyes. He whispered Gwen's name almost inaudibly to himself, releasing Merlin's shirt and letting his hands fall despondently into his lap. 'Camelot's gone…' he murmured. Merlin shook him by the shoulders.

'Pull yourself together. Gwen is in the castle _waiting_ for you to come back and do your duty and restore your kingdom to rights. She needs you. Camelot needs you. And I don't think she'd be that impressed to hear that you're just sitting in some poor family's doorway feeling sorry for yourself and whining like a girl.'

Arthur raised his eyebrows. He tried to find the energy to rebuke Merlin for his rudeness, but it felt like his veins had dried up. Arguing seemed pointless, however. If that was what it took to get his stubborn manservant to go to the castle, then Arthur would keep walking until he was literally a corpse in Merlin's arms.

'Help me…' he grated out, laboriously untangling his feet to get up. Merlin seized him by the arms and hauled him to his feet with a groan.

'That's it… come on…' Merlin muttered encouragingly, grimacing at the freezing touch of Arthur's skin. The prince made a valiant effort to help, but in effect Merlin had to pick him up bodily and set him on his feet, and he only stayed there by leaning on him heavily. Arthur swayed drunkenly for a couple of seconds and Merlin watched him doubtfully. 'Alright…?'

The prince closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, then nodded. 'Let's go.'

- - - - - -- - -

_1 hour later_

Merlin rushed around the corner towards Gaius' quarters, the little bottle of drugged beer in his hand, and threw himself sideways to avoid running headlong into Gwen, who was marching resolutely in the opposite direction.

'Merlin!'

'Gwen – I heard you were locked in the dungeons with Morgana…'

'I was – we were. The king released us…'

'Um, why?'

'Perhaps we aren't such a great danger to society,' she snapped impatiently.

'No, I mean - I don't understand… he's enchanted…'

'Morgana says he is entirely himself. Until Arthur's name is mentioned…' She blinked fiercely.

Merlin looked around furtively and grasped her arm, pulling her with him into the relative safety of Gaius' chambers. Wordlessly he pressed the bottle into the bewildered physician's hands. 'I found him. He's in the tunnels underneath the castle, passed out on our way in. I couldn't carry him inside the castle, there are too many guards about. Can you go to him? He's injured, and talking gibberish. I must help Gaius find an antidote to what the king and soldiers have taken so that we can give him proper help…'

She paled, pressing her lips together nervously. 'How… injured?'

'I… he's. I don't know. He's going to be fine, no – Gwen, I mean it, trust me he's going to be _fine._'

She looked at him distrustfully with wide eyes.

He bit his lip, took her hands, and whispered rapid instructions to help her find Arthur. She nodded tearfully.

'Go now. I'll find you when I know more…'

- - - - - - -

_1 hour later…_

Merlin squinted through a weary haze to make sense of the dense archaic script clogging up the page. The chapter claimed to describe the machinations of illusion spells and emotional misdirection spells and various theoretical questions surrounding the nature of human attachment. The language was difficult, the page was heavy with ink, and Merlin's eyelids were heavy with frustration.

Eventually, he raised his eyes to meet Gaius' bemused gaze. He blinked determinedly to clear his vision. 'Anything?'

'It's a spell intended to cause acute antipathy towards a particular person, and the spell latches on to the first person infected like a parasite. This is more personal a vendetta than we had thought…'

'Gaius, it's been a long night… _please_ tell me in words of two syllables or less…'

'The point is that Uther is harbouring the main… core of the enchantment. If we can break the spell on him, the rest of Camelot will be back to normal.'

'And it's targeted at Arthur…? So, she hasn't enchanted him to love her, agree with everything she says, or… or, I don't know, to be terrible ruler?'

'Not with this potion, no.'

'Just to… hate his son?'

'I'm afraid so. The magic is powerful. It will not be easy to break.'

'Does it say anything there about how to break the enchantment?'

'Only that the spell will be broken when the object of hatred has died. When the enchanted one has "tasted the blood" of his adversary...'

'What?'

'If Arthur dies…'

'Uther will immediately be himself again… he'll know exactly what he's done…'

'Yes.'

Merlin scratched his head for second, then caught Gaius' eye. 'We're going to have to do better than that…'

'In that case I suggest you seek out the help of one who knows more of magic than my books…'

Merlin sighed. This was getting to be a habit.

- - - - - - - - -

_45 minutes earlier…_

A scratching sound somewhere behind her made Gwen spin round, the torch in her hand tearing at the air with a sharp _whump_. 'Who's there?' she whispered. 'Arthur?'

She picked up her trailing skirts with one hand and hurried around the next corner to the place Merlin had described.

Arthur wasn't there. She stumbled forward and crouched down, delicately reaching out to press her fingers into the disturbed dust at the base of the wall. 'Arthur?' she called softly, twisting around and raising the torch higher. 'Are you here? It's me, it's Gwen… I'm here to help you…'

She gasped in surprise as the shuffling, scratching noise issued again from the shadows. She lurched upright, cautiously telling herself it must be rats. Something was moving there, she couldn't make it out… She took a few tentative steps forward, raising the torch as high as her arm would allow, reluctant to move any closer.

Another sound. It might have been… a cough.

The indistinct shape moved again in the darkness and then slumped heavily back into the shadows with a painful exhalation.

Then… 'Guinevere?'

Hesitance forgotten, she rushed forwards, gasping back a rush of nausea when her light fell on the dark stain marring the lower left side of his shirt. 'Arthur…'

'You're… really here? …you're still… yourself?'

'I'm here,' she promised, cupping a hand against the side of his pale face. His gaze strayed unevenly across her face. 'I won't leave you.'

She inspected the makeshift bandage Merlin had left on his side. For now, it was holding well, but Arthur was clearly weak and the strange heat in his skin hinted at the beginnings of a fever.

He mumbled something incoherent, and she absently stroked his hair back, whispering meaningless phrases of comfort.

'It's alright; you're alright.'

'Can't – can't –.'

'Shhh… don't try to talk. You're going to be fine. You're going to be _fine_.'

- - - - - - - -

_1 hour later…_

The dragon raised his enormous head slowly, wearily. Every time Merlin saw him, the creature made a more ostentatious show of being bored of him. This time, he barely made the effort to tear his eyes away from the study of his own mighty talons.

'I need your help,' Merlin began.

The dragon heaved a sigh which seemed to rock the castle's foundations. 'I grow tired of this routine, young warlock.'

'I wouldn't be here if it wasn't a matter of life or death.'

'Matters of like and death occur so frequently in your world that they become tedious.'

'Uther is under a spell, and he's trying to have Arthur killed. The books say the spell will only break when Arthur is dead.'

The dragon rolled his massive eyes, and Merlin fought an urge to stamp in frustration. 'You need to take more care in your research, young warlock.'

'What do you mean? Please – I don't have much time…'

'What did the books say – exactly?'

'That the spell would break when the enchanted man had "tasted the blood" of his enemy. You must tell me another way to break the spell.'

'Use the powers at your disposal.'

'But _how…_'

'That is, of logic. Perhaps not your strongest suit.'

Merlin sighed, scowling at the infuriatingly unconcerned dragon. 'I don't have time for this!'

'The writers of such ancient texts are not known for their mastery of metaphor. The enchantment will be broken when Uther tastes his son's blood. A mere drop will be sufficient.'

Merlin frowned and stepped forward. 'He has to drink his blood? Literally?'

The dragon inclined his head in agreement, and Merlin grimaced, then shook himself into action, turned and sped away.

- - - - - - -

_So sorry for the delay! _


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin skidded back into Gaius' cluttered laboratory, his lungs burning. 'The dragon says it's literal – the king _literally_ has to drink Arthur's blood to lift the spell.'

Gaius sat up from his research, startled. 'Blood? Then we're dealing with magic of the darkest variety. We must be wary of the queen's actions once she realises our intention.'

'How do we get the king to drink it?' Merlin demanded, focusing on the most immediate of their problems.

'I think our best chance lies in the co-operation of Morgana,' Gaius replied thoughtfully.

_30 minutes later..._

Merlin, Gaius and Morgana stood in the doorway of the laboratory, talking urgently.

'I don't like it,' Morgana objected, not for the first time. 'It exposes all of us to great danger, including Gwen. And if Arthur is already injured...'

Merlin squirmed uncomfortably. Considerable time had passed since he had left the prince shivering and oblivious in the tunnels beneath the castle. The state of chaos which still reigned throughout Camelot showed that the enchantment had not yet been broken by his death, but nonetheless, he was worried about the condition he would find his friend in upon his return.

'It is the only course of action still open to us. Times such as these call for desperate measures.' Gaius was adamant. Morgana nodded slowly.

'I'll do it.'

Gaius inclined his head in gratitude. 'Then do it quickly.'

Morgana pulled the door open and strode into the hallway. 'Guards!' she called, gathering up the echoes of her usual authority. Two knights appeared almost instantly – they had been stationed on every corner since the prince's escape.

'I have received intelligence of Arthur's whereabouts. You two will accompany me immediately to his hiding place, apprehend him and ring him before the king.'

The guards bowed clumsily. 'But my lady,' one of them interjected, 'if you would tell us his location, you would not need to be endangered.'

Morgana laughed derisively. 'I cannot entrust such a task to you alone. Some knights are still loyal to the traitor, Arthur, opposing the king and queen.'

'I assure you, my lady, my loyalties are not in question,' the guard grovelled. His snivelling voice made Merlin feel sick.

'I insist that you accompany me immediately,' Morgana reiterated, in a tone which would take no further argument.

Merlin and gaius watched her sweep away, the two knights scuttling along after her. Merlin bit his lip. As Morgana had said, the plan was a dangerous one, with a hundred possible ways of failing catastrophically. He felt Gaius squeeze his shoulder.

'Come along Merlin. It's time we went to see the king.'

_Five minutes earlier..._

Gwen picked her way through the darkness. She heard Arthur draw breath sharply and then his hoarse whisper: 'Guinevere?'

'It's me,' she answered quickly, kneeling beside him. 'Try to drink some water.'

She pulled his shoulders into her lap and lifted his head in the crook of one arm, holding the flask to his pale lips. He drank obediently until the water stuck in his throat and he choked. Hastily, she pulled the flask away and supported him as best she could while he coughed painfully. Finally he subsided and wilted back against her.

'Sire?'

'You can't stay here, Guinevere,' he whispered, exhausted.

'I won't leave you, Arthur. Soon Merlin and Gaius will find a way to lift the enchantment on your father and you will recover from this in your own bed,' she promised. He sighed pessimistically. He had made almost no effort to move since she had returned, and she feared that the last of his strength was ebbing away. She tightened her arms around him and listened intently to his careful breathing.

After a few moments she jolted sharply at the sound of approaching footsteps. She felt Arthur tense in her lap and involuntarily seized his hand. Light was now visible, flickering in the next passage.

'Merlin?' she called softly. 'Is that you?'

Arthur squeezed her hand in alarm, and at the same instant she knew why he was agitated – that was more than one set of footsteps. She retreated further into the wall, pulling Arthur with her and quickly extinguishing her torch, while he struggled to sit up and grip his swor handle. He passed Gwen the little belt knife Morgana had handed him in the dungeons. Both of them were holding their breath.

The light reached the corner of the two tunnels and illuminated both of their faces.

'Mor – Morgana?' Arthur croaked. A strange flicker crossed her face – like the shadow of a wink – but he had no time to ask her why. She beckoned to her shadowy companions and pointed right at them, cowering on the floor.

'There!'

The guards blundered forwards, swords drawn. Gwen leapt to her feet, horrified, while Arthur lurched to his knees, meeting the first guard's attack clumsily with his sword.

'Do not hurt them!' Morgana cried. 'They must be brought alive before the king.'

Gwen slashed a guard's cheek with the tiny knife and he roared in fury, knocking her to the ground. Arther spun round protectively, but his slow, painful movements made it comparatively easy to knock the swords aside and fell him with a cruel kick at his wounded side. Arthur sprawled on his back in the dust, groaning, and found the guard's boot against his throat, preventing him from getting up again.

Gwen sobbed in fury and incomprehension. She glared at Morgana through angry tears, not understanding this betrayal. Morgana herself seemed to be trembling in shock, looking appalled by Arthur's pallor and the bloody bandage, and sickened to see him flailing weakly under the guard's cruel boot.

'D-disarm them. They are not to be harmed before we have seen the king.'

'Yes, my lady.' The guard removed his boots and Arthur gasped raggedly; then hands pulled him roughly to his feet. He moaned involuntarily.

'Take greater care!' Morgana snapped.

Somewhat taken aback, the guards slung Arther's arms round their shoulder and half-supported, half-dragged him along in Morgana's wake, one of them leading Gwen as well with an iron grip around her wrist.

'I don't believe you would do this!' Gwen spat bitterly at her mistress' back.

Morgana trembled but ignored her. The guard glanced at her angrily. 'Watch you tongue – you're in enough trouble for helping the traitor without showing disrespect to the lady.'

She fell silent. Looking sideways, she could barely tell if Arthur was still conscious.

_Meanwhile..._

Merlin and Gaius shuffled into the throne room, carefully keeping knights and councillors between themselves and the king's gaze. He sat sternly on his throne, his hand resting in the slender white fingers of the beautiful Emilia. Both of them were looking down at a kneeling knight with expressions of barely contained fury.

'There's been no word of his whereabouts, Sire, since he was reported to be hiding at the apothecary shop during the night. The building was burned, but no body was recovered from the wreckage, so we are forced to conclude that he escaped.'

The knight winced at Uther's roar of frustration. 'I will hear no more excuses. If he is not found before noon, I will have the whole town burned to the ground!'

Emilia nodded slyly in approval. Merlin shuddered. Her eyes were completely empty of warmth and humanity.

The doors burst open. Morgana strode in impressively, followed by two guards supporting Arthur between them and dragging Gwen by the wrist. Silence fell abruptly.

'My lord,' Morgana announced, 'I bring you the traitor, Arthur, and one who was helping him to escape.'

Uther stood, staring at her. For a long moment, nobody spoke.

'Morgana – you have succeeded where all my knights have failed! Dear child – you must be rewarded.' He beamed at her, and she bowed her head in acknowledgement.

Emilia tapped her husband on the shoulder and murmured something in his ear. 'Yes, quite right – you, go and prepare the gallows immediately. I expect you back in ten minutes to tell me we are ready to be rid of this traitor.'

Two or three knights bowed and left the room.

'While we wait, my lord – let us celebrate with a goblet of wine,' Morgana said, gesturing imperiously to a nearby servant.

Merlin stretched out a hand and bewitched the sword of one of the guards holding Arthur to nudge him hard in the ribs. He rounded immediately on his near-inert prisoner, yelling angrily. Arthur only dragged his head up in bewilderment, but Morgana spun round, goblet in hand, and slapped him ringingly across the face. 'Silence!' she hissed.

Even the guards looked a little bemused by her display of fury. One of her fingernails had left a bleeding gouge in his cheek. Disdainfully, she shook a drop of scarlet liquid from her hand and carried the wine to the king, bowing respectfully as he took it from her and drank deeply.

'Shall we proceed to the gallows, my lord?' the queen prompted. Uther blinked, and shook his head like one awaking from a dream.

'What? – I – wait – _Arthur...'_

Emilia started, astonished, then livid. Ignoring her, Uther stumbled forwards. The guards, now wearing similar looks of confusion and shock, released Arthur, and he dropped to his knees, then toppled forwards into his father's arms.

'My son – what have I done?' the king wept, tenderly cradling his son's exhausted body.

'Stop – he is a traitor – he must die!' cried Emilia desperately, but murmurs of dissent were now filling the hall.

'He's my son,' Uther thundered, standing to face her while Gwen eased Arthur back to his knees. Merlin darted forwards to help her.

Emilia's face registered her realisation of the collapse of her enchantment. She threw caution to the winds. She stood tall and shrieked out her fury in a strange language. Fire crackled from her fingers and she shot the burning death into the knights now rushing to put themselves between the queen and her husband.

Their swords were no match for her sorcery, though, and they fell, burning, or stumbled back in terror.

'We must get them all out!' hissed Merlin to Gaius. 'I may be able to stop her, but I can't in front of the king...'

Gaius glanced around and shook his head at Merlin warningly.

Emilia grasped Uther by the throat and raised him into the air with impossible strength. Knights were repelled from them by an invisible force when they hurried forward to intervene. Merlin released a bolt of blue flame from between his hands, relying on the confusion surrounding him to mask his actions. It singed the back of her dress and she flung the king aside, sensing the magic. She advanced on the gaggle of people surrounding Arthur.

'One of your protectors is a sorcerer, prince!' she shrieked. 'Is it the lady Morgana, perhaps? I applaud your acting, little witch,' she added in a hiss. Morgana stepped back, looking shaken. 'The loyal serving girl? The boy? The old man?' With each question she invoked invisible powers to propel her victims backwards violently, leaving only Arthur, on his knees at her feet.

'Someone close to you is hiding a terrible secret, Arthur Pendragon. That power did not come from you. Even if you were gifted, you are too near death to produce any significant magic.'

She pulled a long bright dagger from the folds of her skirt and pressed its tip to his throat. He tilted his head back, recognising the death which had been stalking him all night in her eyes.

'It seems that the lady Morgana's elaborate plot to save you was all in vain,' she taunted softly.

Merlin stirred, dazed where his head had struck the wall. He rolled over. He could not make his body respond to the moment's urgency.

A hollow, surprised gasp split the air. Merlin's head spun. Arthur was still on his knees at Emilia's feet, but as he watched the dagger fell from her hand and clattered to the floor. With a long moan, Emilia crumpled up and fell to the ground. King Uther, behind her, pulled his sword out of her fallen body and then let that, too, fall to the floor.

The throne room was devastated. The ancient carved wood of the chairs was charred and black; chinks of the floor and pillars had been blasted into rubble. The smoke was thick and the air was full of the survivors' coughing. The was an unbearable beacon of guilt lighting up the faces of the king and his knights as they watched Arthur's head drop and his hand clutch impulsively at the injured side. The other hand was braced against the floor, and he trembled with fever – the tremors clearly visible through his thin shirt. The watchers seemed suddenly fearful to approach him.

Gaius was the first to regain his senses.

'Get a stretcher!' he snapped at the nearest guards. They hurried to obey. He sent others to look for wounded men among the devastation Emilia had wrought, and sent servants to prepare warm water and fresh bandages in his room.

Gwen and Merlin bent over the prince, finding his eyes open, lucid and startled.

'Someone – tell me what happened?' he demanded faintly. Gwen stroked the hair from his forehead and, reassured by her closeness, he promptly passed out.

_Epilogue_

Of the aftermath of these events there is much to be said. Three days later, after a great deal of sleep and the benefits of Gaius' careful ministrations, Arthur was healthy enough to make Merlin's life a misery again. His father had offered a broken apology and left quickly as though the sight of his son had become a torment to him. Arthur was not sorry that his father was avoiding him. Despite the instant dispelling of the enchantment, forgiveness and acceptance could not have the same immediate effect.

For one who had been at the centre of everybody's world throughout his life, those few hours of persecution and loneliness had been profoundly shocking. The naked guilt he met in every face continued that isolation. Even Morgana flinched away from him, though she had never been affected by the spell. The fading line on his face was a personal affront to her, though, as he impatiently pointed out, she had done it to save his life.

Merlin had filled in the details of the story for Arthur and Gwen the morning after the confrontation. Arthur was indignant to have been made a pawn in a plan nobody had told him about, and Merlin impudently retorted that his acting skills would not have been sufficient to pull off the masquerade without revealing all.

Merlin spent several weeks agonising over the accusations Emilia had made in front of Arthur, but eventually assumed that the prince did not remember the conversation. He was quite wrong, but Arthur had merely added it to his private bank of evidence that Merlin was undoubtedly a sorcerer. The prince had been building this suspicion for months, but since Merlin was so obviously nervous about it and had never yet used magic against Camelot, he had avoided mentioning it. Besides, he valued the company far too much to risk scaring his servant away, though of course, he would certainly never admit it.

Very sorry for the ludicrous delay! Hope the ending was okay :) Thank you very much the person who politely asked me if I was ever going to finish it - this is for you!


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